


To Love Without Reason

by MuggleMirror



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety, Childhood Friends, Cock Warming, Comeplay, Explicit Sexual Content, Feminization, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Post-World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27746998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuggleMirror/pseuds/MuggleMirror
Summary: “Come on in, soldier,” Louis pats Harry’s chest and walks away, leaving Harry to follow behind.Harry stands in the living room, looking around at Louis’ dwelling. Family pictures placed high on a shelf, certificates of Louis’ practice, and other trinkets that make Harry entirely too nostalgic.“I have to warn you,” Louis says as he puts the kettle on, the water droplets from his hair trickling down the golden skin of his back. “The door jams if you lock it so you'll have to leave it ajar.”Harry acknowledges with a soft hum, too entranced by Louis’ glistening skin to form a coherent reply.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 44
Kudos: 236
Collections: Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2020





	To Love Without Reason

**Author's Note:**

> Here we finally are! 
> 
> Writing war characters is really tricky and I hope I did them justice. I did my best to not limit PTSD to flashbacks. If any of its depiction is offending is any sense, I apologize. 
> 
> With that said, a huge thanks to [Ni](https://thepolourryexpress.tumblr.com/) and [Ris](https://falsegoodnight.tumblr.com/) for looking over this fic at the last minute, helping me perfect it and the lovely comments they showered my way. You guys are the best!
> 
> Lastly, big thanks to the lovely mods for putting up with all the extensions. Surely, running a fest this huge is a challenge and you guys have done it amazingly.

_“And when all the wars are over, a butterfly will still be beautiful.” ― **Ruskin Bond.**_

The sound of thunder boasting high up in the clouds startles Harry awake. The windows in his room are closed shut, their curtains still and unmoving unlike Harry’s frantic heart. He jerks his head, looking around the dark expanse of his room with wide eyes and shaky hands. Little beams of light that escape from the kitchen, glowing beneath the threshold but not enough that Harry could see clearly.

The booming sound of gunshots and people screaming in pain blend with the roaring sky. His throat is caught between the rapid beating of his heart, fear building up with the weight of apprehension in his chest. With hands trembling, Harry switches on the night light.

Miss Patch stares back at him with her plastic eye from where she is perched on a wooden shelf across the room. Harry had found her lying in a park, her one eye battered and body dirty with mud. That was the day when he had met Louis for the first time. He was on the swing, his feet high up in the air when Miss Patch fell out of his hands. Louis had jumped off instantly to catch her, falling on his knees and scraping his palms. 

Harry had run to help the little boy up and in thanks, Louis had given Harry Miss Patch as a reminder of their newly formed friendship. When Harry had taken her back and had showed it to his mum, she had washed it for him and made it smell fresh. Of detergent and sweet candy smell that nauseated his senses. She had also offered to stitch up a button in place of the battered eye but Harry had insisted she let it be.

“Most broken things are beautiful,” he had told his mother. “It only depends on how one perceives them.”

Harry’s mother had seemed stunned. She had muttered something about Harry having a mouthful of words for his age — something Harry hadn't understood back then, too excited over his shiny toy and the gift from his new friend.

“I’m proud of you, Harry,” she’d always say to him. Now, in the dead of night with a sweaty forehead and a cacophony of horrors of past ringing in his ears, Harry isn’t sure if she still feels the same. 

Harry rubs his hands over his face, wiping away the beads of precipitation on his forehead. Taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart and soothe the screams ringing in his ears, Harry makes his way to the kitchen and puts a kettle on.

Eight months away and the place he called home for the last three years feels foreign to him. The walls are still painted yellow but their hue is faded now, just like the war. The little trinkets he collected over time still stand on the shelves, except now they mock him — challenging Harry to face the demons he has tried to bury deep but are threatening to rise out of their graves.

The kettle whistles loudly, startling Harry from his thoughts. Shuddering out an exhale, he makes quick work of brewing the tea. He sips the drink eagerly, letting it's warmth seep through and soothe his prickling skin.

A day’s old newspaper lies on the wooden table in the kitchen. Before getting drafted, Harry’s mornings consisted of drinking warm coffee to get a boost while working out the crossword in the paper at the table. His next activity would be going on a run and returning back home sweaty while the sun shone with its early brightness. He’d get ready and head to his garage, and when the day was over, he’d have a drink with the boys from work at Rosie’s. It was a comfortable routine Harry had perfected within the span of three years, a routine that had purpose — an end goal.

Standing in his kitchen and watching the night sky come alive with twinkling stars feels foreign and so does the paper lying on the kitchen table. The looming clock in the living room grows heavier as the seconds hand ticks away in a vicious circle of time. Harry glances at his hand — the almost empty cup of tea feels closer to home than any of the other things in his flat. It shouldn't really but the place he had once called home is now nothing more than a dark expanse of unchartered waters, one in which Harry doesn't want to drown. He’d have a hard time staying afloat.

A splash of cold water on his face numbs his senses for a moment, though it isn't enough. The haunting sounds of people screaming, in pain and in horror, still boom in the back of his mind. 

Muffled music plays out from his neighbor next door, prompting a small smile on Harry’s lips. It’s refreshing to know people who didn't just exist anymore; some _lived._ Though he hasn't met his neighbour. Yet, he hopes.

Harry walks into his room and grabs the diary lying on his bedside table. Its leather is starting to wear out; Harry will have to be more careful with it. He sits on the bed with his back against the headboard, stuffing a pillow in between.

He breathes deeply before writing his feelings down, vomiting words on the paper in the form of ink. The dark stain of ink on paper feels pleasant as if the words it bleeds aren't echoing Harry’s anguish. It feels almost surreal, peaceful even, to write down and watch the way his pen glides so smoothly over the white expanse and leaves ink in its wake.

It's not something Harry looks forward to — writing down his ‘experience,’ as his doctor had put it. Still, the words inked on the pages give him a sense of reality, comfort in the most distressful way.

Harry watches the clock tick by as he waits for the muffled music from the adjacent walls to flow through again. It's a routine of sorts. Every night he waits for the hypnotic melody with his diary laid open in front of him and a pen in hand. Harry writes while his neighbour provides the music for his evening. As if he was a character in a movie, forlorn yet hopeful of the happy tidings the future may bring. 

The first time Harry heard it was about a week from his return. The rain was pattering loudly against his windows and the loud thunder that boasted along with it had Harry sweating with fear. The continuous booming ensured that what little sleep he had was gone. Then by some design, the sweet melody filled his ears. As if the person playing it knew Harry needed it. His own lullaby.

When the music stops, so does Harry’s hand. He drops the pen on the bed and rushes to the bathroom, his body and mind aching for a bath.

-

The streets are bustling with pedestrians and motor vehicles in swift hurry to reach their destinations, leaving a thick cloud of smoke behind. The war was surely over, but still the world somehow seems different to Harry. Perhaps nobody thinks of it the same way Harry does. Maybe they do and they’re just not as transparent as he is. 

“Almost there,” Harry pants to himself just before he rounds the street. 

The decision to go on a run this late, though impulsive, did him good. Being out in the streets and working himself up to the point that he felt blood rushing to his face gave him a thrill that didn't lurk with the shadows that scared him. 

The mid afternoon rain left the weather feeling humid and the sky of a grey hue that was now morphing into a deep purple. The vest clings to his body uncomfortably. Harry needs a bath.

With his head down, Harry rounds the corner – a mistake he’d regret in minutes. It doesn't hurt as much when he crashes into someone. What has him growling low in his throat is the throbbing blooming in his back when he falls on the wet ground.

“Motherfu—” Harry curses halfway, a pair of glasses landing on Harry’s chest.

“I’m so sorry,” the boy Harry crashed into cries as he bends down to pick his glasses.

Disbelief washes over Harry. “A hand, mate?” 

“Oh my! Yes, yes, of course.” The boy puts his glasses on and helps Harry up. “I’m so sorry, sir,” he repeats, adjusting his glasses.

The pain in his back is more acute now that Harry’s standing, pricking at his skin like the first time he had bruised himself down those awful steps. “It's fine,” he grits out. It wasn't.

“You don’t look so good…” the boy mutters, sliding a hand over Harry’s back to support him.

“Harry,” he gasps out his name as pain blossomed in his back at the boy’s touch.

“Harry. Please, let me help you. I’m training to become a doctor and the clinic I assist at is quite near.” 

The boy proceeds to support Harry’s weight on himself, moving his hand lower on Harry’s back. If Harry’s cheeks were not tinted before from all the running, they were definitely now. Harry turns to look at the boy holding him. The blue eyes and sharp features seem to be torn from a forgotten memory.

“Do I know you?” Harry asks, momentarily forgetting how the question would seem.

The boy frowns, his sharp features morphing into confusion. “Oh my god! Are you hurt that bad?” The boy fusses over Harry, hands grabbing Harry’s head to look for any injuries. “Harry, tell me, did you hit your head?” 

If the look of concern on the boy’s face wasn't genuine, Harry would have been barking out a laugh. Instead, he presses his lips together in a smile and shakes his head. “Just my back.”

The boy looks down at Harry’s shoes, the hem of his pants dirty. The brown mud stood out against the light beige of his trousers. “Oh.” 

It wasn't the manner of his speaking that had Harry wondering who this boy was. It was the way his eyes shone with the familiarity of someone Harry knew well. Harry grabs the boy’s hand, roughly holding it to see his palm. 

“Louis,” Harry whispers, when he finds the scar he was looking for.

The boy’s eyes snap back to Harry’s face, his eyes shifting from a cold glare to softening in a matter of seconds. 

“Harry? Harry Styles?”

Harry nods with a wide grin. It was Louis after all!

“Oh my!” Louis springs to his feet to hug Harry. Ten years is a long time after all.

Instinctively, Harry steps back, hands held up in defense, panic bubbling up in his throat.

“Hey, it's okay,” Louis says cautiously. “Sorry, just wanted to hug you. Can I hug you, Harry?” 

“Yeah,” Harry nods jerkily. “Yeah,” he repeats, grateful to see a familiar face. 

“Oh,” Louis throws his arms around Harry’s neck and pulls him close, “I missed—” Louis stops abruptly. “My family,” he continues, whispering the words in Harry’s neck, “they missed you.” 

Harry’s heart skips a beat. 

“I thought I’d never get to see you again.” Louis’ says, still holding onto Harry. 

Harry's shoulders slump at Louis’ small voice. He chuckles bitterly, the loud rumble low in his throat. “I’m here now.”

“You are,” Louis says, pulling away. His gaze fleets across Harry’s face, looking him up and down as if to make sure he was real.

A loud honk breaks them out of their reverie, the two jumping away from each other. 

“We could go to the clinic,” Louis clears his throat, “but my flat is just ‘round the corner. I’ll take a look at your back and check for any scrapes. Don't want you catching an infection.”

“Uh, I’m not so sure. I'd be getting in your way.”

“The most I’d be doing is play my flute,” Louis smiles, leaving no room for argument.

\--

Turns out Louis lives in the same building as Harry’s.

 _He's the new neighbour, then,_ Harry wonders while he waits for Louis to open the door. 

“Take your vest off,” Louis orders the second they walk in, the door slamming shut behind them.

Harry flushes further, wondering if Louis was even aware of how it sounded.

“Go on, then. Have to look at your back,” Louis says, all professional.

Harry wonders if this is the voice Louis uses on all his patients.

“I’m going to change out of these dirty clothes,” Louis says, wincing when he glances at Harry’s clothes. “You lie down on the couch on your stomach,” he says, smiling apologetically.

Harry watches Louis retreat to what must be his bedroom, which is not too far. Just a few steps, really. Harry takes off his vest and lies on the couch face down. From here, he has the perfect view of Louis’ cupboard, identical to the one Harry has. 

Harry sighs and looks down. Harry’s not ready for the sight that graces him when he looks up. If he’s being completely honest, he will never be ready. 

In front of the cupboard, Louis stands, getting rid of all his clothes. It shouldn't affect Harry, not if he was like other men. Except, he isn't. 

All the air gets knocked out of Harry’s chest, and it has him choking on his own breath when he realizes that the underpants Louis is wearing are _knickers._ They stretch perfectly around his bum, the lace taut and hugging him in the best way. Harry’s mouth waters a bit. 

Harry quickly looks away just as Louis turns. His heart hammers loudly in his chest when Louis walks over and hovers above him.

“Let’s see,” Louis murmurs to himself, pressing the pads of his fingers on Harry’s back. He then proceeds to grab Harry’ s right ankle and thigh, folding it at a ninety degree angle. “Does it hurt?” he asks.

“No,” Harry says, trying hard not to focus on Louis’ touch.

Louis repeats the same process with Harry’s left leg. Harry hisses. 

“Sorry. Turn around and lie on your back please.”

Harry does as instructed, sitting up to lie again on his back. 

Louis grabs Harry’s ankle, resting a hand just above his knee and lifts his leg up. 

“Now?” 

Harry gulps and nods.

Louis repeats the same process with Harry’s other leg, looking at him for any reaction.

Lying in this position makes it harder to ignore what Harry had seen a few moments ago. Louis’ touch lingers on his skin, causing his hair to stand up. Harry hopes Louis doesn't feel the way his skin craves Louis’ touch. 

When nothing happens, Louis helps Harry sit up and performs another exam in this position.

“Turn around,” Louis says again, “you face against the wall this time.”

Louis crouches to level with Harry's back. His breath hot on Harry’s cold skin, the thrum of excitement running through Harry’s veins wildly. 

Louis touches Harry’s lowers back, gentle fingers pressing the skin there. 

Harry sits up straighter, his back arching in pain. 

“Sorry,” Louis apologizes again and helps Harry turn around.

“A course of tablets should heal you just fine,” Louis says as a matter of factly. “I’ll bring you the medicines.”

“You don't have to, really. A prescription will be fine,” Harry stands up and watches Louis put the kettle on. 

“Nonsense! I’ll bring them to you.” Louis makes his way back to Harry and asks, “you’ll stay for tea, won't you?”

Harry shakes his head.

“But I’ve just met you after so long!”

Harry smiles at Louis’ tone, glad to know Louis missed him too. “I’m in a desperate need of a bath,” he argues. “We’ll have tea sometime again. I’ll cook us dinner tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Louis smiles brightly. “Where are you staying?” he asks as Harry grabs his dirty vest from the ground.

“Next door,” Harry says, walking to the door. “We’re neighbours,”

\--

The startling realization of how much of a bad idea was this hits Harry the second Louis opens the door. A white towel hung low on hips, droplets of water sliding down his curves. 

“I need to bathe,” Harry blurts, willing himself not to blush.

The statement is unprompted, entirely too confusing for Louis to decipher. He tilts his head quizzically. “You need to bathe,” Louis parrots.

Harry sputters, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. When did talking to his childhood friend become so hard? 

“I seem to have run out of hot water,” he provides at last.

“You can use my bathroom,” Louis says, giggling at Harry’s comical misery. 

Harry shakes his head, sighing in relief. 

“Come on in, soldier,” Louis pats Harry’s chest and walks away, leaving Harry to follow behind.

Harry stands in the living room, looking around at Louis’ dwelling. Family pictures placed high on a shelf, certificates of Louis’ practice, and other trinkets that make Harry entirely too nostalgic.

“I have to warn you,” Louis says as he puts the kettle on, the water droplets from his hair trickling down the golden skin of his back. “The door jams if you lock it so you'll have to leave it ajar.”

Harry acknowledges with a soft hum, too entranced by Louis’ glistening skin to form a coherent reply.

“Harry?” Louis turns around, cocking his hip and resting his hand on it.

“Huh?” Harry quickly averts his gaze.

“The bathroom. It's through my room,” Louis nods in the direction of his room.

“Right.”

Once in the bathroom, Harry makes quick work of undressing himself. Louis’ bathroom has a shower too, which makes things easier. The sooner he bathes, the sooner he leaves.

The shower turns on with a soft hiss of steam. The water is warm enough to leave tingles over Harry's body. Then it's a practiced routine of scrubbing away his already clean body, making this his third bath of the day.

It's a lot better than the first few days, when all Harry could do was scrub away the war dirt that had found its way to him, living inside him like a parasite.

Something breaks outside in the bedroom, startling Harry. “Is that you, Lou?” Harry asks at the same time Louis says, “‘s just me, Haz.”

“Towel’s in the cabinet next to the sink,” Louis calls out.

Harry chances a glance at Louis though the small gap of the door. Blood rushes to his face at the sight of Louis dropping his towel and stepping out of it.

Harry has always known how beautiful Louis is, has always acknowledged the pull and effect Louis has on him. But here, watching Louis in all his glory, is something that has Harry gripping the cold tiles of the bathroom.

All the breath in Harry's lungs gets knocked out as he watches the slow drag of lace knickers over Louis' skin until they're covering his arse snug. Harry's cock twitches.

The fabric is sheer, so much that Harry can see from here, and _fuck_. His heart starts to race just as his mind dreams of the unspeakable things he'd like to do to Louis.

"I've got the tea ready," Louis announces and he pulls his shirt on and turns around.

Harry whips his necks so fast he worries he might break it one day.

"I'll be out in a minute," Harry croaks.

It takes more than a minute for his cock to go down.

That night, after a lovely tea, a hurried goodbye, and the promise of cooking them dinner the next night, Harry lies on his bed. Flashes of Louis' plump arse in those tight little knickers that rested just above the curve of his bum drive Harry wild.

Harry shuts his eyes tight, forcing sleep to take over. It comes slowly, bringing dreams of Louis in his bed along with it.

\--

The thing about war is that even though it has been long ended, it still thrives for years, feasting on the pain and misery it brings along. The horrors of battle and the sickening panic that accompany it reside deep within the hearts of people until they've succumbed to its madness.

Not everyone gets out of it enough to live and not just exist. Very few find their way back enough to make a life for themselves where they can afford the luxury of a peaceful sleep. Most don’t.

It's very easy to go down the rabbit hole and get trapped in your own thoughts. Wondering if you did enough, if you earned the respect that people look at you with. Asking yourself if they’d think less of you if they knew how scared you were.

It's how Louis finds Harry, lost in his mind and unaware. 

“Harry,” Louis says as he walks over to him. “What are you doing here?”

“Huh?” Harry jumps and looks around the war veterans and soldiers around him. “I was out to get some pudding for dessert and thought I’d pick you up from the clinic since it was already late. Dr. Blythe told me you were here.”

“You shouldn't have come here,” Louis mutters, shaking his head.

Harry wonders if Louis thinks of him as a weak person. Or a coward.

“C’mon, let’s go. I’m almost done here,” he tugs on Harry’s hand. “Wait for me outside, yeah?” He pushes Harry towards the gate. “Don't eat the pudding,” Louis tries to joke.

Harry's answering smile is as forceful as Louis’.

Louis shows up a few minutes later, his white coat replaced with a tweed jacket. The walk back home is silent. Harry heads straight to the kitchen the moment he unlocks the door, not bothering to see if Louis’ behind him. 

Louis follows him into the kitchen, watching intently as Harry busies himself with dinner. The tension is thick in the air, Louis bets he could slice it with a knife.

“Dr. Blythe is a wonderful doctor, don't you think?” Louis attempts at a conversation. 

Harry hums in reply and busies himself with plating the pie. “It's fish and potato,” is all he says.

“It looks delicious,” Louis says once they've sat down for dinner. 

Harry plays with his food, his stomach in knots and throat feeling tight from their awkward walk back home. 

“If it wasn't for Dr. Blythe, I'd have been in the country with a small room as my clinic and a handful of medicines. He’s helped me a lot, guiding me and teaching me,” Louis provides, unprompted. “He runs that hospital and I volunteer there every day for a few hours.”

They've known each other since they were kids – having a conversation shouldn't be this hard.

“Is that why you came here, then? To London?” Harry says finally.

Nodding, Louis takes another bite of the pie. “Life in the country is simple– the war barely touches you. You get to see its marks when one of the soldiers comes home with a lot less than they had left.”

Harry gulps. “Is it hard?”

“Being a doctor at this point of time?” Louis ponders on the question. “Every wound heals,” he says, “the physical ones do. It's the mental ones that are ruthlessly unyielding.”

Harry drops his spoon and makes a run for the bathroom. 

\--

Harry wipes his mouth clean, gargling the water repeatedly to get rid of the nasty taste lingering in his mouth. He stares at his reflection in the mirror. He looks no different to any other day. The scar on his cheek is still there, a gentle reminder of his childhood. And Louis.

 _Louis_ , Harry thinks. He wonders what Louis thinks of him now. The possibility of his worst dreams coming true makes Harry flush to the neck, his head hanging low. The silence is loud again, echoing through the walls. 

“Harry,” Louis knocks on the bathroom door, making Harry jump. “Can I come in?” he asks.

The door knob rattles. 

“Harry, please open the door.”

Harry cards his fingers through his hair, pulling on the strands hard enough that it stings.

“Please, Harry,” Louis says from the other side of the door, “you're scaring me,” his voice breaking at the end.

It hurts more than it should, hearing Louis’ voice break like that, making Harry’s eyes well up with tears. He could never hurt Louis, could never dream of causing pain to this boy whom Harry’s loved long before he even knew what love was.

He splashes cold water on his face in an attempt to camouflage the tears spilling from his eyes, then turns around to open the door.

“Harry,” Louis gasps and jumps to hug Harry, holding him close. “You scared me, _fuck_.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Harry hugs back tighter, willing himself to not cry but in vain. 

“My brave boy,” Louis says before he even realizes it. “Bravest boy,” he murmurs into Harry's neck. 

Harry sobs a guttural cry, clutching Louis closer and feeling a sense of peace wash over himself. He slides down onto the cold tiles, bringing Louis down with him.

“I'm so proud of you,” Louis murmurs. 

Harry cries a little harder, a stream of never ending tears on his face while Louis holds him close through it, whispering words that calm Harry’s racing heart.

Time is but a fleeting concept within the walls of the small room. They stay there, holding onto each other until Harry’s hiccups have died down. His body feels stiff and his face itchy from the dried tears on his skin.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry whispers, his voice hoarse. 

Louis hums in reply.

“Will you play for me?” Harry breaks away from Louis’ embrace, his body warmth still lingering around Harry. Harry’s eyes are puffy, his cheeks blotchy and crimson. It should feel embarrassing but at this point, he's way past that.

“Of course,” Louis replies in an instant, his voice gruff too. 

Sniffling, Harry rubs his nose and smiles. “I need to take a bath,” he says a beat later. 

Louis frowns then looks at his wristwatch and back up at Harry. “Now?” 

Harry glances at Louis’ wrist, mentally reading the clock as the hour hand strikes three. “I need to,” Harry stresses.

Louis stands and helps Harry up. “Okay, okay. I’ll go get the flute while you bathe.” 

“Okay,” Harry nods, watching Louis’ retreating figure.

It's a few minutes later that Louis returns with his flute. He tiptoes into the apartment, the door closing behind him with a loud creak. The half eaten pies are still on the table along with the unopened box of pudding. The sight of the uneaten food leaves a sinking feeling deep within Louis’ gut, the bitter taste of the night’s events lingering in his mouth.

He gulps down a glass of water in one go, a futile attempt to wash away the sourness in his mouth. 

Walking into Harry’s room are a few steps that Louis crosses eagerly. He drops the flute on the bed and looks around. A smile graces his lips when he spots Miss Patch on the shelf. He shakes his head at the fond memory of when he had first met Harry.

“Lou?” Harry’s voice calls out from the bathroom.

The door is wide open the way Louis had left before going to his apartment. Harry’s covered in soap water, his hair dripping as if he had just dunked his head inside the bath. Louis’ cheeks liven up with color.

Louis clears his throat before speaking. “You’re gonna get all pruney if you stay in there for too long.”

“Help me up?” 

Louis’ breath stutters. He nods jerkily and walks inside the bathroom, grabbing a towel.

“Don't let me fall,” Harry says when Louis extends his hand to help Harry up.

The underlying meaning behind the sentence is one that Louis understands all too well.

Louis grabs Harry's hand and helps him up. “Never.”

Harry steps out carefully, the water from the tub spilling as he moves. Now that he’s naked and completely bare, he feels himself blush harder, and can feel the blush go up to his ears and down his neck. 

Louis’ looking away from him, though, his eyes straight ahead at the door as he hands Harry the towel with his free hand. Harry feels Louis’ grip tighten on his wrist as he wipes himself as best as he can with one hand. Harry's heart skips a beat.

Harry tugs his hand until Louis lets go of it. “‘Ve to wrap the towel.” 

“You really shouldn't take baths this late,” Louis looks down at Harry’s wet feet, “you could catch a cold.”

“I’ve got a personal doctor who’ll make sure I get the best treatment,” Harry says softly, prompting a lovely smile on Louis' face.

The power goes out just as they walk into Harry's room. He jumps. 

“It's just the power.” Louis’ voice is soothing. “Here,” he grabs Harry’s hand again and guides him to the cupboard. He sits on the bed, facing the window while Harry dresses himself. The sound of the wooden door opening behind Louis doesn't distract him from the sparks running along his fingers. 

“Play for me,” Harry whispers in the loud silence, making his way to the bed and settling down. 

Wordlessly, Louis picks up the flute and brings it to his lips. It's a few seconds until Harry hears it: the music to which he has written his pain. It hurts to listen now that he has linked the tune to the events of war.

In the dark, Harry can barely make out Louis’ figure, just the silhouette of his fingers moving efficiently to play music that celebrates the suffering and pain Harry had witnessed and lived.

By the time the final note concludes, Harry's got his eyes closed. He feels Louis shifting next to him until Louis’ hands find their way to Harry's face.

“You're crying,” Louis whispers, his breath warming over Harry's face.

Harry frowns and brings his hands to his face, placing them over Louis’. He feels the wetness on his face and wipes the tears away. His cheeks heat up when he musters the courage to open his eyes, only to find Louis’ already staring back at him.

Even in the dim light, Harry can make out the vibrant blue of his eyes and the gold flecks, like stars shining in the night sky. Louis’ eyes, always so kind and innocent, make Harry weak in the knees. Harry would choose drowning in Louis’ eyes over any other war or battle. 

“Kiss me.” The words are out before Harry is even consciously aware of it.

He doesn't get the chance to take his words back or make up a lame excuse for it. Louis’ mouth is on his instantly, kissing him eagerly. Louis’ fingers find their way into Harry's hair, grasping at every inch of Harry's body with a passion that mirrors Harry's.

“I’m–” Harry gasps when they break away, an apology ready to spill from his lips.

“Thought you'd never ask,” Louis cuts off Harry, grinning.

Harry sighs, relieved. He leans forward, and cups Louis’ face in his hand. He's got a smile on his face that he doesn't even bother to feel embarrassed by. If Louis wants him, then he’ll give that to him. The idea of kissing Louis’ soft lips again, biting them so that they blossom with the deepest of blush is a fantasy Harry had never thought might come alive.

“Can I?” Harry smiles, heart beating so loud that Louis might as well have heard it.

Louis nods eagerly, a similar smile gracing his lips.

This time around, Harry kisses with a fervor he had not earlier. Biting and suckling at Louis’ lips and tasting the salt of his tears on them.

It shouldn't be this easy and familiar but it is. Louis, in his lap, kissing him with such tenderness that Harry cries out again. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Louis asks, his voice small. The small lines on his forehead crease in worry.

“No, _no_! Not at all,” Harry rushes out, smoothing his hands down Louis’ arms until he’s holding Louis’ hands. “You’re amazing,” he murmurs.

Louis sighs, relieved. “What’s wrong then?” 

Harry shakes his head, unable to form words that could explain why he’s crying. He himself is not sure why he’s crying. Harry swallows his tears and looks at the window, the curtain glowing with early daylight.

Louis follows Harry’ line of sight. “We’ve been up all night.”

Harry nods dumbly. “Can we just sleep?” 

“Of course,” Louis says and gets off the bed. “I’ll leave, then.”

Harry grips Louis’ hands tighter. “Stay, _please_ ,” he begs.

Louis looks down at their held hands and then back up at Harry, nodding. Harry shuffles to make space until Louis is laying next to him, snug and warm. 

To Harry, sleep comes easy this morning. With Louis’ hand in his, Harry closes his eyes to the lullaby of bird songs and sunlight beaming softly through the windows.

\--

It's humid, the hot weather making his skin sticky with sweat. There was something about the weather remaining sunny for the day on the radio but Harry never counted on London's weather. He would rather stay home but the loud silence that echoes there is too deafening for him to bear alone. Now, though, the silence isn't as piercing at night with Louis and his music to calm him. Still, staying home after so long of fighting battles of hatred was never a choice.

Working in this humid air while being covered in grease is not an ideal situation. But it helps Harry keep his mind off of things, pushing away the voices in his head to the back of his mind until he’s alone and there's no one around to see him.

Still, sometimes his instincts take over. A loud clang of some tools falling or the thump of a door being slammed shut has him frozen to the ground until the adrenaline kicks in and he’s ready to fight the unknown enemy.

Today is one of those days. Harry's fixing the oil leak, just removing the oil filter of the car, when he hears the soft footsteps thump on the ground until they stop near him. Harry’s hands freeze, the wrench dropping right on his forehead.

“Fuck,” Harry groans in pain.

“Harry! Are you okay?” Louis speaks at the same time.

Harry pulls himself from beneath the car, the creeper’s wheels squeaking loudly. 

“Don't sneak up on me,” Harry wipes his greasy hand on his vest before pressing a hand against his forehead. “What are you doing here anyway? It's late.”

Louis waves around a packet of medicines. “I could ask the same,” he says. “And why is it that every time I see you, you're getting into some kind of trouble?” Louis tuts, shaking his head. “Stop pouting and let me see what’s become of your face.” Louis hopes his face didn't give away the fond in his voice. 

“Ice?” he asks Harry, inspecting his forehead.

Harry points at the tiny excuse of a fridge he always keeps in his office. Instead of going alone, Louis drags Harry along. Once inside Harry’s office, Louis pushes Harry on the worn chair while he retreats towards the fridge that is sat in the corner of the room. The action shouldn’t be as arousing but there’s something about the way Louis pushes Harry onto the chair that has blood rushing to his cheeks and burning the slow pit of heat in his belly.

“No ice,” Louis shrugs, returning with a can of beer and stands next to Harry. He leans forward and presses the cold can to Harry's forehead.

Harry hisses at the contact, a hint of sting beneath his skin. 

“Could’ve been worse,” Louis mutters a while later, placing the now warm can on the desk next to him. He wipes his hand across Harry’s forehead, dabbing away the precipitation glistening. “There,” Louis drops a kiss on Harry’s forehead, lips lingering. “All better now.”

Captivated, Harry’s eyes follow the movement of Louis’ lips, watching the way they form words. The soft tingle they had left behind on his lips yesterday still lingers.

“Can I?” Louis asked, eyes searching Harry’s. 

Last night, Harry hadn't had the honor to look into Louis’ eyes after he kissed him thoroughly. Now, he's going to change it.

“Please,” he says desperately.

Louis joins their lips in an instant, hands reaching to cup Harry’s jaw. He's bent down and the angle is a little straining on his back. Harry pulls Louis closer until Louis’ sitting in his lap, legs on either side of him. The dull throb on his forehead is long forgotten, now that he has a lapful of the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen.

Harry grabs Louis’ waist and brings him closer, their chests flush against each other. Louis fists Harry's hair, causing Harry to moan deep in his throat. 

Harry disconnects their lips just enough to pant out, “do that again.” He bites Louis’ lip roughly when he pulls harder on Harry’s hair. Louis makes a sound so delicious that has Harry wanting to do it again. 

Harry slides his hands down Louis’ back until they’re resting on his ass. He grabs Louis’ cheeks, helping him grind into a smooth rhythm that only ignites the slow burning pit of heat in his belly.

“You're incredible,” Harry says, breaking away to mouth at Louis’ jaw. “Can't believe I get to kiss you.”

“Yeah?” Louis pants, “always wanted you to kiss me.”

Harry bites on Louis’ jaw, eliciting a whimper from the boy.

“Harry,” Louis moans as he grinds down on Harry’s clothed cock, feeling the hardness under him. 

Harry’s breath stutters, he grips Louis’ ass tighter, massaging his cheeks. “Can I?” Harry tugs on Louis’ jeans.

Louis freezes under Harry's hold. He puts an arm on Harry’s chest, breaking away.

“Did I do something?” Harry asks, confused. “We don't, uh, have to do anything you don't want to.”

“It's– no, I want to,” Louis says, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Just don't make fun of me,” Louis looks down, fumbling with a loose thread on his shirt. 

“Lou, hey look at me,” Harry touches Louis’ chin, “I’d never make fun of you. I’m just happy I get to kiss you,” Harry smiles.

“I've always had a thing for your dimples,” Louis giggles then throws his arms around Harry and kisses him again.

This kiss is gentle, consisting of delicate pecks on Louis’ soft lips while Louis kisses back equally tender. It's a kiss that has Harry feeling warm all over, tingles running all over his body. 

“You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?” Harry breaks away enough to breath the words into Louis’ mouth and kisses him again.

Louis breaks away and shakes his head. “Why don't you show me?” he asks, looking up from underneath his lashes. It's a corny line but works anyway. 

Harry surges forward, biting on Louis’ lip harshly and slides his hands under Louis' shirt. He flicks Louis nipples, eyes darkening at the way Louis whimpers at the touch.

“Touch me please,” Louis begs. He grabs Harry's hands and places them on his arse, squeezing his cheeks from over Harry's hands.

“Baby,” Harry groans when Louis rocks down on his crotch and slides his hands inside Louis’ jeans. 

“Lou,” he breathes, the feeling of lace under his palms a pleasant surprise.

Louis’ looking down again, and Harry’s just in awe of this beautiful boy. This _perfect_ boy in his arms who has lived in his wildest dreams ever since Harry saw him that one evening drenched in rain.

“You’re perfect,” Harry surges to kiss Louis, hoping the kiss can convey all the emotions he's feeling at the moment.

It doesn't take much longer for the kiss to turn dirty. Swipes of tongue against Louis’ lips until Harry’s tasting Louis’ mouth, savouring the warm flavour of tea and the sweetness of chocolate.

“You’re delicious,” Harry says, squeezing louis’ lace covered ass.

Louis moans breathily, grinding down harder on Harry’s cock. He whimpers at the hardness of it, rubbing himself against Harry’s belly wantonly.

Harry sucks on Louis’ neck, bruising the delicate skin with sharp bites. He thrusts upwards against Louis’ ass, Louis meeting his thrusts as if riding his cock. Sweat drips down Harry's face as he continues with his thrusts. He's dirty and this is probably the hottest thing he’s ever experienced.

Harry pushes Louis’ shirt enough to expose his nipples and latches on it, sucking the bud roughly into his mouth.

“You're gonna make me come,” Louis chokes out.

“Gonna cream your panties for me, aren't you?” Harry bites on Louis’ nipple, making him wail in pleasure. “Can't wait to get a taste of you, darling,” he rasps, running a dry finger over Louis’ hole.

Louis comes with a broken moan and Harry's name on his lips. 

\--

It's another dinner planned, Harry hopes this one goes a lot better than the previous one had. And so far, it has. The food was great, Louis offering to help him with the desert this time: a simple custard topped with some chopped fruits. 

Harry moans at the sweet taste, delighted. “God, this is delicious!”

Louis grins, his eyes crinkling in the loveliest way. “Mummy gave me the recipe.”

“No wonder it tastes this good.”

“Oi!” Louis cries half heartedly, faking offense.

Harry smiles cheekily.

“More?” Louis asks.

“More,” Harry laughs.

They both lean forwards towards the bowl of custard and before they can make sense of what’s happening, the bowl tumbles, spilling all the custard on the wooden table. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis drawls, some of the custard having splashed all over his shirt. 

Harry laughs a child’s glee. Another mistake, Harry realizes too late. Louis scoops up the custard from the table and slaps it right over Harry’s cheek, drenching him. It's Louis’ turn to laugh now.

Chaos ensues. One smear leads to another splatter, and before they know it, they’re both covered in custard, bits of fruits sticking in their hair and various parts of their bodies.

They dissolve into fits of laughter, nostalgia of childhood running coming alive in their hearts and minds. It's a pleasant feeling, but if there's one thing that Harry’s learned, it is that dwelling on the past never does one good. He grins happily, basking in the warmth of Louis’ laughter. It does something to him — a little hitch of his breath and a skip of a heartbeat. Butterflies in his stomach that flutter gently, tickling his heart with a feeling he’s come to adore. 

Louis’ laughter fades into a similar smile, blue eyes shining like crystals as they look at Harry. He goes to clean up the mess of custard, now dripping onto the floor when Harry stops him. 

“I’ll do this, you go take a bath,” Harry says.

Louis nods and leaves. He returns a few minutes later, to a clean table and a spotless floor. “Your turn,” he says, standing behind Harry, who’s facing the sink.

Harry turns around to a wet Louis, a towel wrapped low on his hips.

Louis doesn't miss the way Harry’s eyes turn dark, glassy eyes following every inch of Louis’ naked skin.

Louis struts to where Harry stands, caging him against the counter. He leans forward, licking some of the custard off of Harry's face. 

Harry shudders. “Louis,” he breathes, dipping forward to steal a kiss.

Louis puts a finger on Harry’s lips. “Shower,” he says, outlining Harry’s lips with his finger.

Smiling, he parts his lips and kisses Louis’ finger. “Alright.”

Harry leaves the shower smelling of Louis. He looks down and runs a hand through his hair, shaking away the excess water dripping from it, sending droplets flying.

Louis giggles when some of them land on him. “Harry!” he laughs, “you’re getting me wet again.”

Any laughter at the unintentional innuendo bubbling in Harry's throat dies down the moment his eyes land on Louis. 

“Lou,” Harry groans, voice already a timbre low. His eyes zero in on the kickers Louis has on, the lace fabric snug on his hips.

“You don’t find it weird? Me wearing knickers?” Louis looks down at his fumbling fingers, voice small.

Harry advances towards Louis, almost tripping over his own feet. He grabs Louis’ waist, fitting his hands perfectly over Louis’ curves, and turns him around. 

His mouth runs dry at the sight of Louis’ lace covered ass. He gulps loudly and flexes his fingers — the itch to reach out and _touch_ is all too tempting. 

Closing the gap between them, he presses his lower body against Louis’ bum. 

Louis’ breath hitches, feeling Harry’s cock hard snug against his arse.

“Have you looked at yourself?” Harry scoffs, unbelieving of how Louis could ever think something so preposterous. “You’re absolutely stunning,” he runs a finger just above the waistband, caressing the soft golden skin there.

“Well…” Louis murmurs, pressing back into Harry’s crotch. The towel in between is quite thick but Louis can still feel the hardness that rests against his bum. _If he were to tug the towel enough to let it fall…_

The thought alone has his mouth watering with need. “Please,” he begs, rocking into Harry.

“Baby,” Harry grabs Louis’ waist, “tell me what you want.” He noses along Louis’ neck, licking away the stray drops of water on his skin.

“Anything,” Louis whispers, twisting his hand behind and tugging on Harry’s towel. 

“Tell me.” Harry kisses the juncture between Louis’ neck and shoulder, biting the skin enough to form a bruise.

Louis sucks his lower lip, gasping when Harry rubs against him particularly deeper. “Anything, do anything you like,” he says and tugs off Harry’s towel. 

He turns out of Harry’s grip, smashing his lips into Harry’s, his back arching as he kisses Harry wantonly.

Harry kisses back equally eager, hands travelling south to rest on Louis’ arse. He squeezes Louis’ cheeks, feeling the soft lace underneath his palm, causing Louis to whimper into the kiss. Breaking away, he throws Louis on the bed and hovers above him. "You have no idea how sinful you look."

He crawls over Louis, kissing his thigh and making his way upwards to his chest. He sucks on a nipple, kissing the bud until it's hard and perky in his mouth.

Louis arches his back off the bed as Harry drags his teeth harshly over his nipple and flicks the other one.

"Harry," Louis pants, pulling Harry up to kiss him again. "Fuck me," he breathes into Harry's mouth, hips thrusting involuntarily 

Harry grunts as his cock rubs against Louis' cock covered with lace. He shoves his hand inside Louis' knickers, pumping his length with deft fingers.

"You're so wet for me, aren't you baby?" Harry whispers hotly.

"Yeah, all soaked for you."

"Fuck," Harry groans, thumbing at the precum and spreading it over Louis' shaft. "Wanna fuck you."

"Please," Louis moans, throwing his arms around Harry's neck and pulling him closer.

Harry removes his hand from Louis' knickers. "Do you have anything?" 

"Second drawer," Louis says, pointing at the bedside table. 

Harry opens the drawer and finds what he's looking for. He drops the lubricant on the bed and kisses Louis firmly. 

He runs a finger over the lace on Louis' cock, feeling it twitch under his touch. "I couldn't help but notice the toy you have in there," Harry drawls out, pulling Louis' knickers down slowly.

"Did you use it, Louis?" Harry looks up at him, hair already sticking to skin and eyes glassy. 

Louis feels his face heat up and lowers his gaze immediately.

"Did you, hm?" Harry asks again.

"Yes," Louis says, voice shaking. 

"Did you like it?"

Louis' eyes snap back at Harry's. He nods.

"Was it as good as the real thing?"

Louis' words die on his lips as Harry breaches his hole with the finger. He gasps up for air, feeling overwhelmed.

Louis shakes his head, biting on his finger when Harry starts pumping his finger.

"Did you ride it here, on your bed?" Harry adds another finger, stretching Louis open, "or did you shove it in until you made a mess of yourself?"

Louis moans, the pleasure of being stretched open thrumming in his veins. "Both," he nods.

Harry adds another finger, feeling Louis' hole clench against his fingers. His kisses Louis again, entirely because he can, leaving soft pecks over Louis' soft lips then bites them red.

"Sit on my cock, then," he whispers into Louis' ears as he fingers Louis.

"Yeah," Louis nods desperately, not bothered to even feel embarrassed at his eagerness.

Harry sits on the bed, back resting against the headboard.

Louis sits up and dribbles some more lubricant on Harry's cock, dragging his hand over Harry's length.

"You're so big," his mouth waters.

Harry grins and Louis flicks him on the chest.

Louis circles his hole and slides two fingers in for good measure.

Harry watches with hooded eyes as Louis rides his fingers, cock bobbing against his stomach with every movement.

Louis wipes away the residue on the sheets, lining up Harry’s cock. His mouth falls open with the sheer stretch of it as his hole takes Harry inch by inch until he finally bottoms out.

Harry grabs Louis' waist immediately, overwhelmed by the soft, velvety walls engulfing him and keeping him warm.

"Look so pretty, keeping my cock warm for me," Harry slides his hands up and down Louis' sides, clenching his abs in an attempt to not thrust up.

Louis holds onto Harry's shoulder and moves experimentally. He gasps, rocking onto Harry's cock.

"Fuck," Louis' breath stutters as Harry thrusts in sync with Louis, his cock meeting Louis' ass.

"That's it, baby," Harry says, thumbing Louis' nipple. "Keep bouncing on my cock. Use me like you use your toy."

Louis' head falls into Harry's shoulder, flush spreading to his neck. He keeps going still, bouncing on Harry's cock and getting himself off.

"Fuck me," he whimpers as his legs start to shake.

Harry grunts as he pulls out. "On your belly," he instructs Louis. He pulls Louis' ass up and spreads his cheeks, watching his hole clench over nothing.

Harry slides in at once, picking up a rhythm. He thrusts into Louis, watching the way his arse ripples with the force of it. He lands a harsh slap on his cheek, the skin blushing crimson.

Louis moans brokenly under him, fisting his mouth as tears form in the corner of his eyes. "Again," he whimpers.

Harry lands another slap on his cheek, this one harder than the previous one.

Louis' back arches and then he's shaking as white spurts of come hits his chest. "Harry," he moans.

"Fuck, Louis," Harry groans as Louis clenches around him, thrusts turning erratic until he's spilling inside Louis. 

He smooths a hand over Louis' cheek, the skin hot under his touch. Harry kisses him there, biting softly.

"Haz," Louis whines.

"Sorry," he kisses it better and then pulls out.

Harry watches in awe as some of his come starts leaking out of Louis' hole. He presses a finger in, making Louis hiss.

Harry plays with it, shoving the come back inside. "Wanna taste you, baby," Harry says, voice rough.

He leans forward and starts licking in earnest, coaxing breathy moans from Louis.

He kisses around the puckered skin, diving in tongue first. Harry ruts against the sheets, reveling in the way Louis clenches under Harry's tongue.

"Taste so sweet, darling," Harry takes Louis' cock into his hand, thumbing the come over his length. "Sweeter than honey," he fucks his tongue deeper, feeling the velvet of Louis' walls on his tongue. 

Louis' coming again, wailing Harry's name and pushing his arse deeper into Harry's face. "Sweeter than the damn custard," Harry breathes into Louis' hole.

Louis giggles, feeling sated and happy. He sits up and says, "you're ridiculous," pulling Harry for a kiss and tasting Harry's come in his mouth.

"Like that?" Harry asks when Louis moans. 

Louis nods, almost shy.

Harry scoops up some of the drying come on Louis' stomach and offers it to Louis, who opens his mouth eagerly, sucking Harry's lips shamelessly.

Harry's cock, twitches at the sight of Louis taking his fingers in his mouth so well. "Don't start something you can't finish," he warns, groaning into Louis' neck.

Louis giggles, light and full of mischief.

And the sound is the sweetest sound Harry will ever be fortunate to hear. The music Louis' lips breathe into Harry's life is beautiful, but the sound of Louis' laughter makes him feel happy and light. As if the burden weighing on his shoulders has decreased ten times fold.

Louis smiles wide, eyes twinkling with mirth and, _God,_ Harry's so in love with this boy.

The battle’s not over yet but it feels less terrifying with Louis by his side, and one day, _hopefully_ , Harry will no longer feel the burden of his past. But for now, he has Louis next to him, and somehow, everything in the world is better.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 334: Set in the 40’s. Specifically 1945/46. Harry is a soldier who came back from war. He meets his childhood friend Louis again. You can use whatever you want. One thing I would ask, feminization for Louis. As in, Harry finds out by chance and he can’t sleep at night without thinking how delicious his childhood friend looks in lace and female underwear. (Prompt Inspiration: Prompt 316 from the 2019 BLFF)
> 
> Bonus points to anyone who saw the anne with an e reference.
> 
> You can reblog the tumblr post [here](https://mugglemirror.tumblr.com/post/639751390370070528/to-love-without-reason-rating-explicit-word) or rt the tweet [here](https://twitter.com/mugglemirror/status/1347544066179821569?s=20)   
>  Thanks for reading!


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